Our Blood Is The Same
by BLUEanimeGIRL025
Summary: A crisp morning spent together by happenstance, Draco and Hermione are forced together by their individual need to visit the hospital wing. Insults are fired as always until Draco goes too far, and Hermione lays out some interesting insight for him. How could Draco have known that her simple question would reverberate throughout his life, even long after the war is over?
1. That Day In The Hospital Wing

_**Summary:**_ _ A crisp morning spent together by happenstance, Draco and Hermione are forced together by their individual need to visit the hospital wing. Insults are fired as always until Draco goes too far, and Hermione lays out some interesting insight for him. How could Draco have known that her simple question would resound throughout his life, even long after the war is over?_

_**A/N: **_ _**This story contains Dramione (Draco/Hermione) and if you do not ship said relationship, then please, either read with an open mind or don't read at all. That's all I ask. Except perhaps for my readers to enjoy this HP story that I concocted in my head :) This will be your ONLY Dramione warning! Thank you!**_

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=.:Chapter One:.=

~That Day In The Hospital Wing

It was a cold midwinter morning of their fourth year at Hogwarts. Christmas had only been a few short weeks before, and classes had just started up again. Even with all the excitement going on at the castle this year, the grounds were still frozen over with ice and snow. This particular day was a Saturday, which meant that classes had temporarily halted, only to rear their ugly heads again the following Monday. Hermione Granger was walking with the famous International Quidditch player Viktor Krum down a chilly corridor on this bright morning, though she did not really think of him in such limited terms. When the two of them were together, they did not suffer titles for one another like "geek" or "Mudblood" or "Quidditch Star." He was just a person as well as she, and their plans were to enjoy the quiet day together.

Though their relationship (or whatever it was) had been made public during the celebration of the Yule Ball, the dusty shelves of books and soft carpet of the library were comfortable and homey for the two of them, and so that was where they were headed once more. And it was with this rather routine schedule that Hermione found herself troubled again with the presence of a Slytherin. The witch had happily allowed Viktor to take the lead while she followed after him grinning like a maniac. Neither of them even saw it coming until the hex had already hit the brown haired girl square in the chest and sent her flying backward down the lengthy corridor. Krum immediately had his wand at the ready, but all he caught was a glimpse of black hair as the girl who had hexed Hermione ran laughing in the opposite direction. Torn between chasing after the other girl and rushing to Hermione's aid, Krum finally decided upon the latter and went to help his female companion off the floor.

"Something is wrong with my arms," said Hermione shakily as Krum helped her to her unsteady feet. "I don't know what she did to me, just… oh!" Hermione's left arm had shot forward in the air of its own accord, and she got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when suddenly she realized just which hex she had been cursed with. As she suspected, all four of her limbs began thrashing wildly, and though Krum was older and more experienced than she, he had never seen quite this spin of it before, and even in her frazzled state Hermione reminded herself to tell him about it later so that the curse might not catch him unawares in the Tournament.

Viktor held her as best he could while she wriggled and writhed out of his grasp. He tried countering the hex with a simple paralysis spell ("_Petrificus Totalus!_" he cried again in his heavy Bulgarian accent, waving his wand in her direction), but sadly to no avail. If anything her body seemed to seize even more at his feeble attempts to help her. There was no other choice but for Viktor to try to manage her writhing self into the hospital wing, which thankfully was not so far away. It was early, so most of the other students were still warm in their beds asleep, a fact for which Hermione thanked any and all of the gods above. Even so, she hated it that she had been caught so unawares in the presence of the man she was falling for. Tears of shame and self-loathing tracked their way down her cheeks as she apologized again and again while he tried to hold her. What had happened to the CONSTANT VIGILANCE that Professor Moody was always on about? He would be disappointed if he could see one of his brightest students in this retched state.

Finally they made their way through the doors of the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey's heels clicked the floor as she made her way to the two of them in her usual bustling attitude. A few quick questions and Hermione was given a potion to calm her thrashing limbs, and once her legs were finally immobile and her arms had settled to much less violent flailing she begged Viktor to go on ahead to the library without her. She could tell that the boy was not so thrilled at the prospect of leaving her side, but she couldn't _stand _for him to see her so weak and humiliated, so she pleaded with him until he finally relented and left. So while her arms flopped pointlessly in her lap, Hermione found sanctuary in the silence of the hospital wing, feeling blessed that she was currently the only patient. She was ready for this whole horrible thing to be just a memory. Being stuck in this place for weeks during her second year after the Polyjuice incident had been bad enough. Come to think of it, hadn't that been Millicent Bulstrode's black hair bounding away from her in the corridor?

Hermione had just settled in for a comfortable day dream about the Yule Ball, her arms still twitching just a bit, and she was so warm in the bed where she sat that she almost fell asleep, when suddenly there was a commotion in the doorway. In hobbled Madam Pomfrey once more, trying to balance a hysterical and sobbing Draco Malfoy. _Wonderful,_ Hermione thought to herself. _As if today could get much worse._ In with the witch and her most recent patient were two sluggish creatures following close behind, going by the names of Crabbe and Goyle. The two of them stared on in shock at Malfoy's crazed (and obviously staged) ramblings. Madam Pomfrey quite frankly told him to shut it while she examined the alleged wound on the upper bicep of his left arm. Draco clutched the arm theatrically and stumbled his way over to a bed while the witch prodded him over and rolled her eyes. She then ordered Malfoy's posse of henchmen to leave, with all of the necessary assurances that he would be fine. By the way the two of them looked on at her with mouths agape, one would think she were speaking Troll. Finally the two shuffled their way out, looking lost and forlorn without their blonde leader.

The bed where Draco lay was directly across the room from Hermione, and she looked on with mild interest. It was only later that she would learn that Seamus Finnigan had attempted to stealthily light one of Malfoy's coat sleeves on fire, and had accidentally sliced the Slytherin's arm open instead. Seamus always had had a bit of unfortunate luck when it came to spellwork. So here was Draco Malfoy bawling and muttering profanities in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey tried in vain to get him to hold still so she could examine his wound. Apparently a quick healing spell would do no good for the injury because the gash was spewing oozing green puss instead of blood. Hermione fought the bile of that morning's breakfast from coming back up when the smell hit her. Later she would wonder how on earth Seamus had managed _that_ complicated bit of spellwork when he'd only been trying to start a measly fire.

Madam Pomfrey gave Malfoy a potion as well and ordered him to swallow it down, which he did with the most sickening bought of moaning that Hermione had ever witnessed a teenage boy actually trying to pull off. That was about when the blonde Slytherin finally noticed her, and he sobered up in an instant, eyeing her scornfully from around the older witch's shoulder. Without his lackeys around as an audience he finally gave up the charade, and the witch bandaging his arm mumbled under her breath about his vast wealth of immaturity. "What are _you_ looking at Granger?" he snarled. He wouldn't dare call her anything worse with an adult in the room. Even Madam Pomfrey could give detentions and take points if she wanted to.

"Quiet Mr. Malfoy," the older witch commanded, and the spoiled blonde boy sank back on his bed, lips white from keeping them sealed as he glared across the room. Since she was safely behind Madam Pomfrey's back, Hermione made a hateful face at him and settled herself as well, determined to find her way back to the pleasantries that had been dancing around in her head before his ill-timed interruption.

Several blessedly silent minutes passed, and Hermione was on the edges of sleep when one of her arms twitched again and she heard a snarling chuckle from across the room. Her eyes popped open and she immediately understood that Malfoy was laughing at her. Madam Pomfrey had left the room. "So Bulstrode pulled it off after all. I thought she might have a hard time finding an opportunity since you're always surrounded by those two wankers you call friends, but it's good _somebody_ managed to knock you down a few pegs."

So the attack had been planned after all. She had wondered at it. Hermione glared at Malfoy for a moment, but refused to be baited by him, and so she closed her eyes again. A moment later she heard him hiss, "You should know your place _Mudblood_."

A sharp breath sucked down her windpipe as her eyes snapped open again. That word was still sometimes like a cruel slap to the face for her, and suddenly she saw flashes of blood as she considered crossing the room to punch him in the nose again, as she had done the year before. She resisted though, and again tried to find her comfort zone. Even with her eyes closed she could still feel Malfoy's hateful glare upon her, and she knew that he was just minutes away from whining about having to recover while sharing a room with her. She knew he wasn't going to allow himself to be ignored, so she opened her eyes and asked, "How did you get that anyway?"

A flush of dark anger (or was it shame?) crept up the blonde guy's face. "That's none of your goddamned business, you nosy prat. You don't deserve the right to even speak to a Pureblood like me. Consider that I'm even acknowledging you a bit of a fortune for you."

"Well then I must be pretty fortunate," she replied lazily, "because you are acknowledging me almost every time you see me." He hissed threateningly at her, but she ignored it. "I'm impressed," she continued. "This is the longest I have ever seen you go unprotected by those great lugs, Dumb and Dumber. Aren't you afraid I'll curse you to next Wednesday, Malfoy? I could do it you know."

He snorted. "Wait until my father hears about this _ludicrous_…"

Hermione felt her lungs swell with bitter laughter at the immature and overused line coming from his mouth. "I am far from afraid of your father, Malfoy, no matter how high up in the ranks of You-Know-Who he is."

"That's your mistake then," Malfoy drawled with a cocky twitch of his thin golden eyebrows. "You disgusting swine. I don't know why they even let people like _you_ into this school. If I were the Headmaster-"

Hermione cut him off at that, not wanting to hear what lame scenario he was about to play out in fantasy. "If you were Headmaster the castle would crumble to its very foundations."

"How can you even call yourself a witch?" Malfoy snarled on, ignoring her comment. "And now you've got the _audacity_ to wrap Viktor Krum around your finger? Does _he _know that your parents are a couple of filthy Muggles?"

"Don't you _dare_…" she started, but Malfoy rolled right over her.

"I bet he has no idea. If he even had a fucking _clue_ he would leave you in a heartbeat! I may not be his biggest fan, but anybody deserves better than to be shagging a nasty Mudblood with a face like a horse!"

Hermione felt rage building tears in the back of her throat, stinging their way down her chest as she tried to swallow and calm herself. She had been taunted by Malfoy more times than she could count, so why did she always let it bother her so much? "Do you really think that my blood is that different from yours?" she demanded before he could open his heinous mouth to spew anymore venom.

Malfoy was caught aback by her sudden question. "Of course it is, what the bloody hell…?"

"Why?" she pressed on, her chin raised high as she looked on him with cold eyes. He was a bug that she would squash if she could. "Do you really think that if _my _arm were sliced open that I would bleed any differently than you?" Without hesitation she took out her wand and pressed the tip of it to the end of her ring finger, left hand. With a surge of magic she pricked her skin and encouraged the blood to flow over her middle and pointer fingers, rolling around in her hand. She was already holding the hand where he could see, but she quickly crossed the room to drive her point home. Malfoy was staring at the blood in her hand like she'd gone mad, but she didn't care. She just wanted him to understand. "Sod off!" he shouted, cringing away, but she ignored him.

"Does it _look_ any differently to you Draco?" she demanded, and her use of his first name seemed to rattle him even more. He watched in absolute revulsion as more droplets of brilliant red blood wept from her tiny pinprick. Her sudden actions had struck him cold, and so she held her hand out even closer to him. "See? It's the same!"

Draco smacked her bloody palm away as if it were a dangerous snake. "Get your filthy fucking Mudblood germs away from me!" he screamed, and scooted himself to the edge of the bed farthest away from her. Feeling the adrenaline still pumping through her veins with the need to prove something, Hermione lifted her wand again to do away with her little self-inflicted wound. She didn't even realize that it had been several minutes since the last time any of her limbs had twitched, and she was standing on her own just fine now thankyouverymuch. She was about to use a spell to do away with the blood, but then she thought better of it and took a handkerchief from her pocket. It was one of her personals, her initials embroidered in the corner by her own hand. She wiped the blood off with it and folded the cloth neatly, setting it on the table top of the night stand near Malfoy's bed. His eyes had moved from her to it as if the thing were about to turn into a vile creature and take a bite at him. "What do you think I'm going to do with that?" he drawled.

"I don't want you to do _anything _with it," she explained with a scoff. "But when Madam Pomfrey comes to unwrap your bandages, just compare them with this, and see for yourself if our blood is really that different or not. All you have to do is _look._" With that, Hermione turned on her heel to go ask Madam Pomfrey if she could leave. Viktor was waiting for her in the library.

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Once Granger the nasty geek Mudblood was gone, Draco eyed the handkerchief she had left for him and shifted so that he was even further away from it. Who knew what kind of disgusting Muggle diseases she might be carrying? He wanted nothing to do with her foul bodily fluids.

An hour passed before Madam Pomfrey came in to examine him again, and he was already contemplating on how exactly he was going to word the story to his father in the owl he would send. When the woman unwrapped the bindings from his arm, Draco winced but otherwise paid her no mind at all. "Hmm," the witch said pensively. "Well at least the oozing has stopped and it's bleeding properly now. It seems it has been for a little while. Let me put something else on it and then you can go." Draco didn't even watch her retreat from the room.

Just then something caught his eye, and he noticed that the old witch had set his bloody bandages down on the nightstand directly beside Granger's red-stained handkerchief. Curiosity got the better of him as he leaned over to get a better look. The blood had dried on both pieces of cloth by now, and as Granger had been trying to point out, there was nothing physically different that he could see about his blood and hers. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled, trying to forget how shaken he had really been when she had pricked her own finger and had bled the same red as he. And it didn't matter. She was still a Mudblood. He was still a Malfoy. She was vile, and he was her superior. No matter what color she bled.

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**_A/N: Please note that the rest of this story will take place several years later, which is why this story is categorized under the "Post Hogwarts" selection. I hope you enjoyed chapter one of my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction =)_**


	2. Life After War

=.:Chapter Two:.=

~Life After War

_Six Long Years Later…_

Three years. Three unbearably painful years had passed since the end of the Dark Lord's second and final reign. Voldemort had finally been defeated, this time without even the tiniest of doubts, and the darkness of the world had been utterly squished out. The wizarding world was at peace more or less, and the magical beings of the earth went about their daily business once again without the Muggles suspecting a thing. It was a crisp morning much like the one of all those years ago, but without the snow, as it was still mid-autumn, and Draco Malfoy was shuffling along the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, allowing the sea of early risers to carry him along to his destination.

On his way to the little coffee shop where he always spent a few carefree minutes before the stress of the workday kicked in, Draco couldn't help but to glance down an alleyway that lead to the darkness of Knockturn Alley. He had frequented the place with his father, and even alone, in his youth, but since the turning of events three years ago he hadn't even considered a revisit. He was surprised the place still even existed with the vast majority of the public opting to stamp out of the Dark Arts in these peaceful days, where beforehand there had been some slight form of tolerance and leniency. Still, the glancing of the alleyway had become a daily part of his morning routine – another small reminder of how drastically his life had been altered.

Draco felt like his very existence had been grinded through a paper shredder, balled up together in an iron fist, and then stretched thin to the point of breaking. He felt that he was but a mere shadow of himself, of the glory he used to be. Nothing was right anymore. Everything was so fucked up.

Had he even cared for a stroll down memory lane and ever found himself in serious consideration for a walk down Knockturn Alley, he would have had no choice but to shrug the notion away and forget about it. There were too many terrible memories from the time he had spent trying to figure a way to sneak the Death Eaters into Hogwarts during his sixth year. Not to mention, if Draco even breathed a word resembling the phrase _"Dark Arts,"_ the Ministry would have him locked up in Azkaban with his father faster than manure would attract a fly. "Manure" was something new he had learned about at work – it was literally animal dung that the Muggles used to grow plants and crops. They used dung to grow their food! The more he learned about Muggles the more their logic exceeded his grasp.

Life had thrown Draco an ironic curve ball (another Muggle term from their "baseball" sport… something where players actually keep their feet on the ground, unless they're sliding face-first into the dirt of course) when the only place in the wizarding community he could find work was at a small desk in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry. _And_ to make matters worse, the only reason why he had been allowed the job at all was because the Weasel's freak of a father had specifically requested him before his retirement. Draco still didn't know what had prodded his father's lifelong enemy into such an action – perhaps it had been a cruel joke to mock the glory of the family name that the Malfoys had spent all their time throwing around – but he was both grateful and sickened that the man had done it. Grateful because at the time he'd had nowhere else in the world to go, and sickened because he was grateful for acquiring the damned degrading and hateful job in the first place.

Draco's routine this morning had so far been exactly the same as any other. He had woken shaking and sweating from the nightmares that plagued him in his sleep, opening his bloodshot eyes to a cruddy room he was renting above the local pub - you guessed it, The Leaky Cauldron. It wouldn't have been so bad if the place weren't such a high traffic area. Draco was constantly casting silencing wards so he wouldn't be able to hear his rowdy "house guests" as they drank and smoked the night away downstairs. The smell of pipe tobacco and alcohol was ever present in his dark and dusty room, and the supposed cleaning lady had yet to have been seen. The floorboards creaked with his weight and there were cracks in everything from the faded porcelain sink to the very walls around him. Draco had tried a bit of repairing and cleaning up here and there, but it had never been his strong suit, and he figured there wasn't any point to it anyway.

Once dressed in moderately decent clothes, rather than the terribly expensive and perpetually spotless robes he had grown up wearing, Draco headed for the crowded streets of wizarding London. Once he was outside the smoky pub, which usually smelled reminiscent of vomit and cat urine in turns, Draco would take a long moment in silence behind the tall brick wall to appreciate the sun and the fresh air. In the few times he had visited The Leaky Cauldron in his youth, he remembered the place being better taken care of, but that had been long before the turbulence of the war, and now people were still sailing on the mere relief of being alive that many of them were attending endless celebrations and just didn't care. Draco found himself thinking from time to time, it must be nice to be someone who can experience such relief from the recent events. It must be wonderful to be anybody who had a black and white life, who only saw the good conquering evil in this whole situation. It must be nice to be someone else - anybody else but him.

Every single day Draco woke up with the ever-present knowledge that even while his life was a constant stream of misery for him, things could be so much worse. At least he was alive (though sometimes he questioned the true value in that). At least he was away from the soul-sucking Dementors of Azkaban, who were at this very moment probably munching contentedly away at his father's dark memories of the foul deeds he had committed throughout his life, vacuuming any traces of sanity from him. At least Draco was free to eat what he wanted, to feel the sun on his face, free to make a steady income to support himself, if he was only _just_ managing it. His mind would filter through all of these simple facts, and come to screeching halt at the one thing that always smacked him square in the face – the one thing he would never, ever be able to make himself forget.

The only reason why Draco had been allowed any freedom at all was because that damned Potter had vouched in his favor at his trial. It had been Potter's strong resolve and confidence, playing with the surprised audience of Ministry members in the palm of his hand, his goody two-shoes act enough to make Draco vomit, if he hadn't been so frightened at the time of course. It had been Potter's coaxing and prodding here and there that had grudgingly nudged them into giving Draco Malfoy a second chance, whatever crimes his father had committed. The very thought of the whole ordeal still left Draco drained and sick to his stomach – he literally could feel bile creeping into his throat. He almost would have rather gone with his father to Azkaban than to have Potter stand up for him the way that he did, but Draco had personally had no say in the matter.

He had cornered Potter sometime later on (they did both work at the Ministry now after all, even if Potter was the hero of the world and a freelance Auror while Draco was still considered the scum of the earth and stuck in an office all day). Though he had had such passionate words at Draco's appeal, when he confronted him about it Potter had looked disgusted to even lay eyes on him. "What the fuck are you playing at?" Draco had demanded, wanting so badly to shove his nemesis but knowing that that would only serve to land him in with the Dementors. "Are you trying to make me _owe_ you Potter? Because I'll tell you now – I didn't ask you to stand up for me, I don't owe you a _damn_ thing!"

Potter scoffed and his face contorted into an un-hero-like sneer. "As if you would ever have anything I want, Malfoy. I'm only doing this for you because it's what Dumbledore would have wanted. He was ready to give you a chance to stop following in your father's footsteps – so here it is. Your chance. You only get one so don't. fuck. it. up." Just as he was about to turn away, an afterthought appeared to stop him, and he said over his shoulder, "And also, because Hermione asked me to. So if there were anybody you might consider giving thanks to, then it should be her." Without another word, Potter had walked away, leaving Draco even more frustrated and confused than he had been before.

So Granger had convinced Potter into speaking up for him, had she? That was almost as baffling as the act itself. Why was the Golden Trio of Hogwarts suddenly standing up for their hated enemy? Draco had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that their reasons all revolved around pitying him. However bad his life had become after the Dark Lord's demise, Draco didn't need _anybody's_ damn pity. And so it was with a scowl on his face that he finally arrived at his destination, squeezing unapologetically past witches and wizards who were all in too much of a hurry to pay him any mind.

The tiny coffee shop that Draco enjoyed was a squat building squished in between an ice cream parlor and a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes (now run solo by the remaining brother of the Weasley twins) and across the street from what had once been the abandoned building of Ollivander's. The famous wands shop had recently been reopened by the old man's grandson, allegedly after much debate. From what Draco had heard of the situation, Ollivander himself still hung around the dusty old shop day after day, directing Ollivander III in each wand selling transaction, refusing to leave and let go. Now as Draco disappeared into the comforting silence of the coffee shop, he left behind a nervous babble of parents aligning the adjacent street with their children. Many of the children were old enough to have had their own wand for several years over, and many of them clutched old beaten wands that were obviously hand-me-downs that they would soon be rid of. Once again, Draco felt elated by the location of his little escape place. Being between an ice cream parlor and a joke's shop, there was not a chance that any parents would wind up in his sanctuary with their nosy prat children. Occasionally a harassed looking witch or wizard would stumble in and order a coffee to go, obviously waiting for their children to emerge from the buildings next door. They had no time to appreciate the quiet and relaxation, the little bit of sanity that Draco had in all of his stressful days.

Draco had his mind elsewhere when he ducked inside, and so he forgot to watch out for the one major hazard that the little café had to offer. He jumped back, startled, and barely managed to sidestep the thing that was suddenly trying to take a snap at his face. A waitress nearby gave the thing a light annoyed slap, and turned to Draco with an apologetic expression. "Sorry," the witch said to him. "They get cranky when they haven't been fed." With that, she reached into a bucket and took a handful of what appeared to be raw shredded meat, throwing it at the monster, who gobbled it up greedily.

The thing that had attacked him was a five-foot-tall potted plant, and the large bulbous thing could best be described as a giant cousin of the Venus Flytrap, except these foul tempered wizarding plants were much more vicious than their Muggle counterparts. The thing consisted of a thick green stalk that curved upward to support the rounded blue flower, which was vaguely reminiscent of a giant human skull, a full set of razor sharp teeth jutting out from under its lip while it chomped its food. Draco eyed the thing warily, having never seen one of them eat before. There were three others like it in the room, all sitting neatly tucked away into the corners where they were the least likely to hurt anybody. They were supposedly a very rare breed, and the little coffee place used them as both a tool for bringing in customers as well as spoiled pets of sorts.

Draco sidestepped the nearest one as it settled and began to snore, folding his coat over the chair of his usual table and allowing the selfsame waitress to take his order of a single cup with cream no sugar. He slid over an abandoned copy of the Daily Prophet from an empty table nearby and began to read while he waited. The waitress brought him his steaming cup. In a very Draco Malfoy like fashion he neglected to thank her and simply let his eyes wander the newsprint before him, sighing and trying to forget that this alone would be the most pleasant part of his day.

After a few short moments, Draco felt an irritating sort of itch forming, as if someone were watching him, and his head snapped up from his reading to find a single brown eye peeking out at him from behind a massive hardbound book. Though it had been years since he'd last seen her, Draco instantly recognized the head of bushy hair that belonged to the girl sitting at the table directly across from his. Granger gave a little start and quickly hid her face behind her book, obviously trying to pretend that she hadn't just seen him. Malfoy gave an incredulous sneer, having never seen her in his little sanctuary before, and followed her example by ignoring her.

Draco tried to concentrate on the printed headlines before him, but he was far too aware of the awkward silence that seemed to be clogging the air around him, directed at him from the other table. He began to feel that itch again. It was worse when they both put down their reading material to take a drink at the same time. Draco found a place somewhere to the side to rest his eyes, as he knew she was, still attempting to pretend as though he hadn't noticed the girl in front of him. Granger cleared her throat, making him sneer again as suddenly he remembered exactly what her annoying nagging voice sounded like. He prayed she wouldn't speak to him.

Just then the plant nearby that had taken a snap at him earlier suddenly snorted loudly in its sleep, making the two of them jump. That was when Granger began to laugh, and Draco felt himself go red in the face as she delicately placed her book to the side. He wasn't sure why he was turning red – it may have been either anger or annoyance, or just the apprehension of seeing one of his old enemies, or maybe it was just simple instinct wondering why she had the nerve to try and talk to him as if they were on the same level. He always had, and always would find Granger beneath him. She was a Mudblood, and he a Pureblood, however soiled the Malfoy name had become. Even now after the war, he wanted nothing to do with her, or her blood traitor friends.

"So how are you, Draco?" she asked pleasantly, and her use of his first name startled him again, just as it had those many years ago.

"What do you care?" he muttered, pretending to be caught up by a story in the paper. He barely saw the words. How _dare_ she come here and steal his moment of peace away.? He thought about standing up and leaving right then, miserable as it would be to show up to work early.

"Just curious," said Granger happily, and she stood up. "I've heard you've had a rough go of it," she continued, and he watched in trepidation as she tucked her book beneath her arm and took a seat at his own table. Like clockwork, the minute she sat down, he stood up. "Wait!" she cried. Draco didn't stop. He was determined just to get away from her, but she caught up with him outside. "Wait!" she said again, and caught his sleeve.

He spun to face her. "What do you want from me _Granger_?" he demanded, giving her his best scowl. It had been so long since he'd been so openly nasty to anyone, it felt a little like reopening an old wound, but mostly, it was just familiar and comfortable. It was easy to hate somebody. It always had been.

"Honestly I… I just wanted to see how you're doing." She was panting from having to chase after him. The witches and wizards of the busy street passed the two of them by without a second glance.

"Why?" he asked, looking down his nose at her. "Why the _hell_ would _you_ want to know how _I_ am doing?"

"Because-!" she stammered, a hand lightly resting on her chest s she still fought to catch her breath. He frowned at her, his nose scrunching up of its own accord. How he had always _hated_ her. "I've asked Harry and Ron and they both agree that you've had… trouble adjusting to your new lifestyle…"

Before the last word had even left her tongue, Draco was in her face. "You lot have been _talking_ together about me now? What _is_ it with you sticking your ugly noses into other people's business? I'm doing just _fine_. By the way, I heard about the recent developments in your own situation. Congratulations - you saw some sense for the first time in your life and got yourself rid of that foul Weasel."

Granger's face immediately turned a deep beat red, and she gave him a dark look. "My relationship with Ronald is not one of your concerns," she said, obviously trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

"And my life is none of yours!" he spat, and turned to walk away.

"I can't believe it!" she called after him, and he rolled her eyes. He couldn't believe it either – couldn't believe the fact that he hadn't managed to dissuade her from him yet. She was walking along behind him now, and people were starting to turn their heads as she shouted after him, ignoring their looks. "I'd hoped that your attitude would have adjusted by now, after three _years_ of walking a straight line. But you're just as nasty as you've ever been, aren't you? I can't believe that this is what two men sacrificed their lives for!"

That stopped him dead, and she nearly ran right over him. He shook his robes where she had lightly bumped him, as if to rid himself of her invisible filth, and then he turned to her. "What did you just say?" he demanded.

Draco was watching her face carefully then, so he saw the surprise slowly unfold over her features. "Y-you mean they never told you…?" she asked quietly. "Nobody ever said anything?"

"What are you talking about Granger? Spit it out!"

Still appearing shaken, Granger took a breath and wrung her hands as if she were about to dive into an unpleasant substance. Then she cleared her throat like she was about to give a lecture. "Draco," she started slowly. "Snape was on our side. The good guys side. He was a spy for Dumbledore the entire time."

Silence followed between the two of them, and the notion that Granger was suggesting was almost enough to make Draco want to laugh in her face. "What are you on about?" he asked with an incredulous chortle. "Are you off your rocker Granger? Snape _killed_ your precious Dumbledore!" He'd said the words a little louder than he'd meant to, and many people suddenly stopped in their tracks. Some of them apparently recognized Granger for who she was, and one man even came closer as if to offer her protection, but she waved them away. Once people were about their business again, she took Draco's sleeve and roughly pulled him along into the nearest secluded corner she could find. He quickly shook off her hold, but he didn't try to run again. He followed, intrigued by whatever she might possibly have to say in Snape's defense.

"Draco," she began again, and he was really starting to resent the fact that she spoke to him as if she were talking to a child. "Dumbledore _asked_ Snape to kill him." Draco gave a little guffaw at that, but she spoke right over him. "It's true!" she insisted. "Dumbledore knew all along about your attempts to kill him, but it didn't matter because _he was already dying. _He knew that you were being pressured into the situation by your family, and by Voldemort," (she spoke the name very quietly) "and he knew the matter was coming to a head. So he asked Snape to kill him in your place, since Dumbledore knew that he was already trying to protect you anyway." Granger quieted then, appearing as if there were more she wanted to say, but she was watching him now as if waiting for that "Oh!" moment epiphany.

That moment never came.

It was the craziest concocted story that Draco had ever heard. And there were so many holes – but how did she know that Snape had been trying to protect him? Did she know that he'd made the Unbreakable Vow? "How would you even know any of this you filthy M-" He cut off with the word "Mudblood" about to form on his lips. He'd known better than to utter that word at all for the past three years, and he was almost more surprised than she was that the word had nearly escaped him.

Granger didn't let it faze her. "Harry was there when Snape died. Snape gave Harry some of his memories because he wanted him to know."

Draco snickered. "Again – _why_? Why would Snape have any reason to do that? He hated Potter."

Granger sighed heavily and rubbed a crease between her eyebrows (which she'd obviously had thinned). "Snape was in love with Harry's mother. They were childhood sweethearts, and he always resented Harry's father for taking her away from him. Sometimes I wonder if that might have been the only reason he went dark side in the first place."

"If I thought you were off your rocker before now I _really_ think you're crazy. I don't need any more of this."

Draco began to turn away but she caught him again and pulled him back. "Whatever you think Draco, obviously both Dumbledore and Snape saw something worth saving in you. I bet if you looked hard enough, you would find it too." And then she slipped into the crowd, and she must have Apparated, because he couldn't see her anywhere. Typical Mudblood Granger. Always had to have the last word in.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _**And so it begins! I promise I will try to find time between work and sleep and spending time with the boyfriend to keep this story updated. I lead a busy life so please excuse the wait! I will try my hardest to put up a new chapter every weekend, maybe even during the middle of the week from time to time if I'm feeling really edgy haha. Please understand that while I enjoy writing and reading fanfiction, it is not exactly my first priority. With that said, I want to thank my readers, and the crazy amount of followers I received after I posted chapter one. Thank you all so much! If there are any typos, I'm sorry. I'll give it a once-over later =) Thanks again!**_


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